


Lie to me

by consultantofgallifrey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Break Up, Cheating, Childhood Memories, Drug Use, Engagement, Evil Mary, F/M, Lies, Mental Breakdown, Post Season 2, Set Up, So many lies, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trust Issues, mariarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:03:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultantofgallifrey/pseuds/consultantofgallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock overdoses on drugs, John makes it clear that if the detective uses drugs again, he's leaving. However, when drugs appear at Baker Street, Sherlock moves himself out even though he claims the drugs aren't his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was lying on the sofa, his hands steepled under his chin with his eyes shut. He had been lying there for days now which had been irritating John quite a lot. He constantly nagged at Sherlock to eat or drink or get up or get some actual sleep but Sherlock never listened. In fact, when he heard John start, he retreated into his mind palace and stayed there until he was sure John had given up. John simply didn't understand the importance of cleaning out your mind palace. He didn't seem to understand that if Sherlock didn't clean his mind palace out every once in a while, he would become slow and stupid like everyone else. _That is Myroft's problem_ , thought Sherlock, _he doesn't take time to clean his mind palace out and that is why he is slipping._ Mycroft, of course, blamed it on middle age but Sherlock was determined to never have to use that excuse. 

John came home from working at the surgery and stood in front of the sofa, frowning at Sherlock. "You have to stop this now, Sherlock," he started. 

Sherlock didn't hear the rest of whatever John had to say because he quickly retreated back into his mind palace. He frowned as a few words made their way in. "You...... food...... sleep...... please......." Sherlock didn't understand why these words were slipping in. Nothing had ever slipped in before. There had been times when he had been in a room full of people screaming with sirens blaring and had not heard a thing once he entered his mind palace. Then he realized. His brain was letting John's voice in subconsciously because John was worried. He was pleading. 

Sherlock was about to open his eyes when he realized that the talking had stopped. _John has gone to bed,_ he thought. He decided that if he worked very hard tonight and all of tomorrow, by the time John got home from work tomorrow night, he would be finished and he'd let John fuss over him. Mentally nodding to himself, he set to work. He usually worked slowly when cleaning his mind palace out. How could he possibly make sure he was thorough otherwise? But now he was rushing through it. He found himself running from room to room, sticking his head in and making a decision without looking properly at all. As he came up to a room marked  _THE SOLAR SYSTEM,_ he ran straight past it, deleting it as he went. John wouldn't be pleased that he had forgotten that the Earth goes around the Sun again but he was sure John would drill it back into his brain.  _  
_

* * *

When John woke up in the morning, he walked into the living room to see if Sherlock had re-emerged from his mind palace. No such luck. He took a moment to watch as Sherlock twitched and pulled a series of faces. He always did weird things like these whenever he was in his mind palace and John was curious as to whether Sherlock was aware that he did it. He decided he would ask Sherlock when he finally came back out of his mind palace. "Sherlock, please come out," he sighed. "You look terrible. You need to eat and get some decent sleep, then you can go back to whatever you're doing." Sherlock didn't come out, of course, but his hand started twitching more. "Are you even listening?" John asked, then sighed. "Yeah, didn't think so." 

He walked into the kitchen and started preparing himself some tea and toast. He made some for Sherlock too, which he placed on the table beside the sofa, in the hope that Sherlock would come back while he was at work and eat them. John had been doing this every morning but every night when he got home, they were still sitting there. He watched Sherlock carefully, noticing how whenever he frowned, his hand momentarily stopped twitching, and the more his hand twitched, the faster his eyes  moved underneath his eyelids. Sherlock often told John that he didn't observe but John knew that he could write a whole book about the things he had observed about Sherlock. 

After breakfast, John got ready and caught a cab to the surgery. He used to think of work as a chore, something he only did because he needed money, but since he had started going out with Mary, the receptionist, he found himself looking forward to it. They had met when John had had to get another job so that he could afford to stay at Baker Street after Sherlock "died" although Mrs. Hudson had insisted that she didn't mind if he was a bit late paying. At first, John didn't talk to her at all, just smiled politely and got to work but after Mary had come in and seen him about to break down, they had become closer. She helped him work through dealing with Sherlock's death, and then helped him dealing with Sherlock coming back. Now that he had gotten over everything that had happened, John thought he was ready to move ahead in his relationship with Mary. 

John walked into the surgery and walked over to the receptionist desk where Mary was sitting, typing something onto the computer. He bent down so he was eye level with her and kissed her quickly, before taking the list of today's patients off her desk, winking at her, and walking into his room. As he sat down at his own desk, looking at the list of patients, he saw that he still had some time before he had to see anyone. Smiling, John picked up his phone and typed in a number. 

"Hello, Garrard Jewellers, this is Tiffany speaking. How may I help you?" a friendly voice said, answering the phone. 

John was sure to keep his voice low, in case Mary walked in. "Uh, hi, this is John Watson. I wanted to check up on the ring I ordered?" 

"One second, sir," Tiffany said, and John could hear her flipping through papers. "We have the ring ready. You can come pick it up whenever you like."

John grinned. "Great. Thank you very much." He hung up. Looking at his list, he saw that it was time for him to see his first patient. 

 **********

The day went on slowly. By his lunch break, John was exhausted.

Mary came in and took one look at him before smirking. "You still have half a day to go," she said, sitting down on his lap.

John sighed. "Yeah, I know." He wrapped his arms around her. "How would you like to go to dinner tomorrow night?"

Mary nodded. "Sounds great," she said, kissing his softly. 

John grinned and kissed her back. Tomorrow night. That was when he was going to pop the question.  

"How's Sherlock?" Mary asked, knowing that whenever John was exhausted it always had something to do with Sherlock 

John sighed. "Still in his mind palace. It's been 5 days since he's come out." 

"Spring cleaning?" Mary asked. 

John nodded. "He should be done by now, shouldn't he? I mean, how long does it take to clean out your brain?" 

"When you have a brain like his, I suppose it takes a lot longer," Mary shrugged. 

"I guess," John murmured, checking his watch. "My lunch break is over. See you tomorrow night?" 

Mary smiled. "What time will you pick me up?"

"Seven," John replied and kissed her. 

Mary kissed him back. "See you then," she said, standing up and walking out. 

 **********

John had 19 more patients before he was finished working. When he left, instead of heading back to Baker Street, he walked to the jeweler to pick up the ring. He walked in and looked around at the engagement rings while he waited to be served.

A woman in her early 20's walked over to him. She was tall and pale with dark hair that hung down to the middle of her back and bright blue eyes. Her name tag said that her name was Charlotte. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked politely. 

"I want to pick up a ring," he replied. 

"Can I take your name?" she asked as she walked around behind the counter. 

"John Watson," John told her. 

She looked through some papers before walking to the back of the store. When she returned, she was holding a small black box which she opened up to show the ring. The ring had a large blue diamond on it, surrounded by lots of small clear diamonds. "Is this it?" she asked. 

John looked up from the ring. "Yes, that's it," he said, smiling. 

The woman handed John the ring as he handed her a cheque. John thanked her and walked out, hailing a cab. He hoped that when he got home, Sherlock would be out of his mind palace. 

**********

When John got home, he saw that Sherlock was still in his mind palace. As he walked over to the sofa, he saw that the toast and the tea hadn't been touched. "Oh, come on, Sherlock," he sighed. "I need to talk to you. Just come out for five minutes?" 

Sherlock didn't reply but John hadn't expected him to anyway. His hand was twitching more than ever, no longer by his side but up in front of him, making strange movements in the air. 

John frowned. He wondered what Sherlock was doing inside his mind. Whatever it was, it was quite amusing to watch from out here. He sighed and picked up the abandoned tea and toast, taking them to the kitchen. He made dinner for himself and Sherlock, placing Sherlock's on the table by the sofa as he sat down in his armchair to eat. He tried not to make a habit of sitting in the living room to eat, but he found it funny to watch Sherlock twitching about on the sofa. As John was finishing his dinner, he saw Sherlock's hand drop to his side. It was almost still, twitching only occasionally. His face was moving through a series of winces and frowns. John didn't like it. He had half a mind to throw some cold water at Sherlock, to get him to come back but he decided against it. 

John wondered what part of his mind palace Sherlock was going through now.  _It must be quite bad,_ he thought,  _because Sherlock doesn't wince about very much at all._ He decided to stay and keep an eye on Sherlock. He didn't know why, but he just felt bad leaving him. For hours John stayed there, watching Sherlock. As he started to fall asleep, he got up to make himself some coffee, then read a book. He wanted to keep himself awake. He wasn't very good at staying awake though, and he drifted off to sleep before it even reached midnight. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was walking slowly through his mind palace now. He was almost done and he was up to the part he hated the most. He slowly walked down the corridor, looking at the labels on the doors and flinching away from them. He knew he had to look through them, but he really didn't want to. He avoided this part of his mind at all times, yet he couldn't bring himself to delete these rooms. They did occasionally prove useful but above that, they were the memories from a very large part of his life. The label on the door in front of him read  _ **CHILDHOOD.**_ Flinching away, he found himself in front of a door marked **_DRUG YEARS._** Everywhere he looked, there were rooms full of horrible memories. He started running, but wherever he turned, more doors. **_TESTS_ ,  _REHAB, TORTURE._  **Finally, he found himself in front of a door marked **_REDBEARD._  **

Sherlock's eyes flung open and he sat upright. Looking around, he saw that he was at Baker Street and John was asleep in his armchair. Everything was normal and fine and good. John started to stir and Sherlock assumed he must have been thrashing around as he ran through his mind palace. 

"Sherlock?" John asked sleepily as he looked over to where Sherlock was sitting on the sofa. "Oh, you're done now." He stood up and walked over to Sherlock. "Gosh, you look horrible," he said. "Here, eat this." 

Sherlock found himself with a plate of food on his lap. It was cold but he was hungry so he ate it anyway. 

"Now time to get some sleep," John said, pulling Sherlock up and pushing him towards his bedroom. He pushed Sherlock onto his bed. "And I mean sleep. No mind palace or anything. Okay?" 

He walked to the door and then looked over at Sherlock and saw that he was already asleep. John smiled a little before walking to the kitchen to get himself a cup of tea before going to bed. In the morning he would tell Sherlock about his plans to propose to Mary. He'd also ask Sherlock to be his best man. He grinned as he walked upstairs to his room, sipping at his tea. He fell asleep with his tea cup sitting on his bedside table, only half empty. 

**********

When John awoke, Sherlock was standing beside his bed, holding the ring that was soon to be Mary's. "Don't do it," Sherlock said gravely, when he saw that John was awake and looking at him. 

"Why not?" John sighed. "We'll still do cases and stuff. It won't change anything." 

Sherlock shook his head. "It's not that. Just.... don't do it." 

John frowned. "Why not?" 

Sherlock considered what to say next. "Do you trust me?" he finally asked. 

"Yeah, of course," John answered automatically. "But I want to marry her, Sherlock." 

Sherlock sighed. "John, she's really not who you think she is."

"Then who is she?" John asked, mentally face palming.

"Do you really want me to tell you?" Sherlock asked. "Because you know I'll be right and you might not want to hear it."

"Just say it," John sighed, bracing himself for whatever Sherlock was going to say. 

"You don't know anything about Mary," Sherlock told him. "You've only been inside her house twice, both times of which were planned ahead and she never let you into any rooms other than the living room and kitchen." 

"What's your point?" John asked. "I don't let her in half the rooms here when she comes over." 

"Because you have someone else living here," Sherlock pointed out. 

John frowned. "So?" 

Sherlock continued on. "You don't have any proof that her name is Mary Morstan." 

"Yes I do," John argued. "Her name tag at work." 

"It only says Mary M," Sherlock reminded him. 

"And mine only says Dr. J. Watson. Doesn't mean my name isn't John." 

"Mary doesn't answer the phone at night, even when her lights are on and there is movement inside the house," Sherlock pushed further.

"Have you been watching her?" John asked, trying not to lose his temper. 

Sherlock sighed as if it was incredibly obvious. "Well I wasn't going to tell you any of this unless I was sure, was I?" 

John rolled his eyes. "What are you trying to say, Sherlock?" 

"You're picking her up at seven, correct?" 

John nodded. "Yeah?" 

"Get there at six and you'll see what I'm talking about," Sherlock said. "I wouldn't bother making a reservation for the restaurant, I doubt you'll end up going on your date."

"Sherlock, you were in your mind palace for days. You can hardly make deductions about things that you aren't even observing."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Yesterday you treated forty-nine patients."

"Lucky guess," John said, trying not to look surprised.

"Fifteen of them had something wrong with their skin, eleven had joint pain, nine had infections, seven had back problems, four migraines and headaches, two colds and one had a broken toe," Sherlock said, running through the list quickly without bothering to take a breath. 

"How on earth did you-?" John started to asked but then shook his head. He had learned by now to only ask when he doubted Sherlock. John didn't doubt him now because he knew for a fact that Sherlock was absolutely correct. 

"Just get there at six," Sherlock said quietly. 

John nodded. "Yeah, okay, fine." There was a moment's hesitation before he asked, "but what am I going to find if I go there early?" 

Sherlock looked at John grimly. "She won't be alone."

**********

At quarter to six, John left Baker Street and hailed a cab. He was in his best suit and had the ring in his pocket, despite what Sherlock had said. As he sat in the cab waiting to get to Mary's house, he started to stress more and more. He became so stressed that he didn't even notice when the cab pulled up. 

"Oy, mate," the cabbie said, looking at John through the mirror. "We're here." 

John jumped a little but quickly paid him and got out. Checking his watch, he saw that it was just going on six o' clock. He knocked on Mary's door and was relieved when he saw her open it. 

She was wearing a plain red dress with tights underneath it. She obviously hadn't started getting ready yet. "John, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice only a whisper. "You said you were picking me up at seven." 

John nodded and was about to respond when another voice filled the air. "Darling, who is it?" 

John frowned. He knew that voice. That was...

Moriarty walked into the room, looking as dressed up as ever in his westwood suit. He smirked when he saw John. "Well, I guess the cat is out of the bag."

John took a step back, looking from Moriarty to Mary. "Mary M," he said softly as it hit him. "Mary Moriarty."

Mary looked at him desperately, her eyes begging John to forgive her. "I'm sorry," she said softly. 

John shook his head. "No," he said, his voice as quiet as a whisper but firm nonetheless. "You.... you are married to him?" He nodded towards Moriarty who was still smirking in the doorway.

Mary nodded slightly. "Yes..." she said hesitantly. "Yes, I am." 

"Do you know who he  _is_?" John asked. 

Mary nodded again. "Yes, I do." 

"What he does?" 

"I know everything about him, John," Mary sighed. 

"Then why are you married to him?" John asked angrily. 

"Because she likes people like me more than people like you," Moriarty smirked. 

John looked at him, glaring furiously. "People like you?" he spat. "People who go around killing people?" 

"What makes you think she is any better?" Moriarty asked. 

John looked back at Mary, silently begging her to say that Moriarty is wrong. 

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. 

"No," John said angrily. "No, you're really not." He looked from Mary to Moriarty one more time before walking out. 

He didn't hail another cab even though it had now started to rain heavily. He didn't want to see another person for some time so he set about walking back to Baker Street. For two hours John walked, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched. As he walked past the Thames, he pulled the ring out of his pocket and stared at it. Two hours ago, it had looked so beautiful. John had imagined seeing it upon Mary's finger and her fingers intertwined with his. He had imagined seeing a wedding ring added and seeing Mary in a beautiful white gown. Now all he saw was a cold rock on a metal circle and Moriarty's smirking face as John realized that all the things he had imagined, Mary had already done with Moriarty. He shut the lid on the box holding the ring and threw it angrily into the water. 

**********

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair when John got home. Relief flooded across his features and he let out a sigh. John should have been home hours ago and he had been worrying about where he was. He had the courtesy to not send John a message to ask about his whereabouts in case John was having a deep discussion with Mary. 

John barely looked at Sherlock as he shuffled in, removing his wet jacket and hanging it up and then walking into the kitchen. 

"You're soaked," Sherlock said quietly. 

John gave a humorless chuckle. "That's the least of my problems," he sighed. "I walked home," he murmured as he dug around the kitchen looking for a clean cup to use. 

"I see," Sherlock nodded quietly. 

John looked through all the cupboards and didn't find any cups. He picked up a beaker to see what was behind it but still there were no cups. Angrily, he smashed it on the ground as he stood, hunched over the sink. 

Sherlock was in the kitchen in an instance and by John's side. "John?" he asked softly. 

"There aren't any clean cups," John mumbled, not looking at Sherlock. 

"I'll wash some," Sherlock said gently. He went to turn the tap on but stopped when John grabbed his arm. 

"You were right," John whispered, turning and hugging Sherlock. Right now, he didn't care if Sherlock wanted to hug him or not. He needed a hug and Sherlock was the only person here to give him one. "Why do you always have to be right." 

Sherlock held John in his arms, resting his chin on the top of John's head. "I'm sorry," he said softly. 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for taking so long to update. I had a lot going on with school and my nan passing away but now I'll be back to updating every Sunday. I hope you're enjoying this so far. It's my first fanfic so comments on how I am doing would be great.

John walked into the kitchen the next morning to the smell burnt toast. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" he asked, yawning. 

"Making you breakfast," Sherlock said as he struggled to get the toast out of the toaster. 

"Why?" John asked. Then he remembered everything that had happened last night and realized that Sherlock was feeling sorry for him. "Oh."

Sherlock continued trying to pull the toast out but couldn't grab it. He resorted to grabbing a fork and was about to stab it into the toast when John stopped him. 

"Sherlock!" he shouted, grabbing the fork and pulling it out of his hand. "You don't get toast out with a fork!" 

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, confused. "I wasn't going to let it touch the toaster." 

John sighed and pulled the black toast out of the toaster, dropping it onto a plate. He tried not to grimace at how burnt it was, knowing that he had to eat it so that Sherlock wouldn't feel bad.  _Maybe if I smother it in spread, it won't taste so bad,_ he decided. He moved to get some jam out of the pantry, covering his toast in it. 

"I made tea too," Sherlock said proudly. 

John glanced at the tea and his eyes widened at the sight. The cup was full of milk and had three tea bags in it. 

"I filled it with milk but I couldn't get the color right so I just kept adding tea bags," Sherlock shrugged. 

"Did you put water in it?" John asked. 

Sherlock frowned. "You have water in your tea?" 

"Tea always has water," John sighed. "But thanks, I'm sure it will be delicious." 

Sherlock smiled and followed John into the living room where they sat in their armchairs. 

John struggled through breakfast, trying his best to put on a smile as he bit into the burnt toast and drank the cup of tea which just tasted like warm out of date milk. 

"Do you like it?" Sherlock asked eagerly. 

John nodded. "You did great," he mumbled as he tried not to gag on the tea. 

"I can make you breakfast every morning if you want," Sherlock suggested. 

John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes wide. He couldn't have this for breakfast every morning. "No, it's okay," he said. "Breakfast is my job." 

Sherlock looked disappointed but didn't say anything. 

**********

After breakfast, John went back upstairs to his room. He didn't want to have to deal with anyone or anything. He lay down on his bed, listening to Sherlock bustling around downstairs. He wondered what Sherlock was doing but decided not to go check. The last thing he wanted to do was yell at Sherlock for blowing something up. The bustling continued for hours but John ignored it until he saw smoke drifting into his room from under the door and heard the smoke alarm going off. He swung the door open and ran down the stairs. 

"Sherlock! What the hell are you-" He stopped when he reached the kitchen and saw Sherlock desperately trying to put out several fires that had sprung from whatever he had in the pans on the stove. 

Sherlock looked up at John, panicked. "John, what do I do?" he asked as he frantically sprayed the pans with the fire hydrant. 

John sighed and walked over, taking the fire hydrant from Sherlock. "You're doing it wrong. You have to point it at the base of the fire, see?" He sprayed it but nothing came out. "And now it's empty. Great," he sighed. "Turn the stove off, would you?" 

Sherlock turned the stove off, watching John as he started putting lids on all the pans and moving them off the stove. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. 

John looked up at him. "What were you trying to  _do?"_ he asked angrily. 

Sherlock looked disappointed. "I was trying to make lunch," he mumbled. 

"Well don't, okay?" John said, frustrated as he walked around, opening windows to let the smoke out. 

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded. 

"Just... stay out of the kitchen. This is the second disaster today." 

"Second?" Sherlock asked softly. 

"Breakfast was a disaster," John grumbled. 

Sherlock didn't say anything else. He just walked out of the flat, not bothering to grab his scarf or coat on the way out. He let the door slam and stomped down the stairs. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Hudson came out. 

"Sherlock, what was all the racket upstairs?" she asked anxiously. 

"Just me making disasters in the kitchen," Sherlock mumbled. "Don't worry about it. John is fixing everything up. Excuse me." He walked straight past her and out into the pouring rain. 

 **********

By the time John had finished cleaning up the kitchen, he realized how mean he had been to Sherlock. He knew that Sherlock was only trying to help but sometimes it was just easier if he didn't. Sighing, John checked the time and saw that Sherlock had been out for two hours in the pouring rain without his coat or scarf. He knew that Sherlock wasn't in a cab because he had watched him storm off down the street from the window. After another hour had passed, John decided to message Sherlock. 

 **Sherlock, I'm sorry. JW  
** **I shouldn't have snapped at you. JW**  
 **Can you come home now? JW**

There was no reply and after another hour passed, John started to worry. He decided to call Sherlock and was surprised when Sherlock actually answered, knowing Sherlock preferred to text. What surprised him the most though was Sherlock's voice when he spoke. 

"John?" he murmured, his voice husky and slurred. 

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked as his mind ran through all the possible reasons why Sherlock could sound like that. All of them made his stomach twist. 

Sherlock started to giggle and John knew what was wrong. "Sherlock, where are you?" he asked. 

"Kew Gardens," Sherlock murmured. 

John nodded. "The blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens?" 

"Yeah that one," Sherlock mumbled sleepily. 

"I'll be there in ten minutes," John said as he grabbed his jacket and started walking down the stairs. "Don't take any more of whatever it is that you took." He hung up and hurried down the stairs, out of the flat and into the street. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address, saying that there was a ten quid tip for him if he was fast. John was vaguely aware of how quickly the cab was winding through the streets but it still seemed to be taking far too long. He knew of Sherlock's history with drugs, of course he did. There were the casual drug use, the addictions and the overdoses and as John thought of how hurt Sherlock had looked before he stormed off, he hoped to God that it wasn't going to be an overdose. 

As soon as the cab pulled up at Kew Gardens, John threw money at the driver and ran out. He found Sherlock lying in the blind greenhouse, unconscious and knelt beside him, checking all his vitals. "Sherlock," he said softly but firmly. There was no reply. "Sherlock," John said louder but still nothing. "Shit," he muttered as he fished for his phone in his pocket. "Come on Sherlock, stay with me," he muttered as he phoned for an ambulance. Sherlock's breaths were fast and shallow and his heartbeat was erratic. While they waited for an ambulance, John sat beside Sherlock, stroking his sweaty curls off his hot forehead. When the paramedics finally came, Sherlock was lifted up onto the stretcher and wheeled to the ambulance with John following close behind. He was determined not to let Sherlock out of his sight. 

When they were in the ambulance and speeding towards the hospital, John sent a text to Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and Molly. 

**Sherlock is in hospital. JW**

John knew that everyone would worry when they got the message and that he ought to have called them all individually, but he was busy murmuring comforting things to Sherlock. He wasn't quite sure what he was saying. The words just flowed out of his mouth so softly that he doubted if Sherlock could even hear him but still he didn't stop. He didn't stop until they reached the hospital where Molly was already waiting for them and Sherlock was taken away from him. 

Molly hurried over to John and hugged him. She didn't ask what happened and John was grateful for that as he hugged her back. "They'll look after him," she said softly as she pulled away and they walked into the hospital to sit in the waiting room. 

John nodded and followed behind numbly, glad that he wouldn't have to wait alone. 


	4. Chapter 4

Molly and Mrs. Hudson were sitting in the corner of Sherlock's hospital room, chatting away. John was glad that they were being so loud and laughing. They really lightened the mood. 

Mycroft and Greg were sitting in the chairs on the left of Sherlock's bed. Every now and then one would murmur something and the other would nod. They both watched Sherlock gravely. John knew that this was the second time seeing Sherlock like this for both of them. As he understood, the first time was before Sherlock and Greg met and the second time Mycroft had been away on business. 

John was sitting on the right side of Sherlock's bed. He was a mess. Sherlock had been in hospital for two days now and in those two days, John hadn't eaten or slept. Everyone else had been coming and going but John hadn't left Sherlock's side. Mrs. Hudson kept urging him to come home, just for a few hours, but he wouldn't. How could he leave Sherlock's side when this was his fault? John hadn't told anyone what had happened. He hadn't spoken a single word since they had arrived at the hospital. He stood up, placing two fingers gently on Sherlock's wrist, then on his neck. He placed the back of his hand on Sherlock's forehead, then checked his charts. John knew he was driving everyone crazy with his frequent checking of Sherlock's charts and vitals but he felt hopeless if he didn't. 

"He's looking paler," Mycroft murmured and Greg nodded. 

John looked up, annoyed, but didn't say anything. 

"Blood flow is still decreasing," Mycroft sighed. 

"Shut up," John said angrily, his voice rough from not having used it in while. He didn't want to hear Sherlock was getting worse. He had noticed how pale the detective was becoming but he had been ignoring it until now. 

Mycroft looked up at John, slightly surprised. "I'm sorry?" 

"Shut. Up," John repeated, his voice louder and firmer. 

"I was merely stating the facts," Mycroft frowned. 

"Well don't," John said angrily. Everyone was staring at him now and he didn't care at all. "Just don't. Nobody needs to know what you think." 

Mycroft looked at John calmly which only made John more angry. 

"Stop it," John grumbled. 

"Stop what?" Mycroft asked calmly. 

"Stop deducing me!" John shouted. 

The whole room went silent apart from Mrs. Hudson's loud gasp. 

John stood up and without another word, stormed out of the room. As he was storming down the corridor, he heard someone calling his name. He was about to ignore them when he realized that it wasn't anyone who had been in the room with him. And that they were calling from in front of him, not behind him. Looking up, John saw Mike Stamford walking towards him, smiling and waving. John wasn't really in the mood for talking to Mike but he waved back anyway as they got closer to each other. 

"John, what are you doing here?" Mike asked as he reached John. "Mary's not ill is she?" 

John frowned. "What?" Then he remembered that Mike didn't know that Mary had cheated on him. No one did actually. Had it really only been four days since he had found out? "No, it's Sherlock," John sighed.

Mike nodded. He didn't need to ask why. Sherlock only went to hospital for one reason. "Is he okay?" 

John shook his head. "I don't know. He's not looking good," he murmured. 

Mike nodded. "You want to go get some coffee? Get your mind off things?" 

John shook his head. "I might head home," he sighed. "Tomorrow?" 

Mike smiled gently at him. "Yeah, of course. I'll be here all day tomorrow." 

John nodded and left. When he got back to Baker Street, he still didn't eat or sleep. He spent the night either sitting in his chair or pacing around the room. In the morning, he got a text from Mike. 

**Still up for coffee? MS**

John sighed. He wasn't really in the mood for coffee but he really did need to get his mind off everything and he had told Mike he would. 

**Sure. Meet you at the cafe across from Barts? JW**

The reply came back quickly. 

**Okay. See you in 5. MS**

**********

3 hours, 2 coffees and twelve missed calls later, John and Mike were still sitting at the cafe. John's phone rang again and he checked to see who it was from. This time it was Greg. This was the seventh time Greg had called. The other five were from Molly and Mrs. Hudson. John had chosen not to answer any of them. He didn't want to have everyone checking if he was okay. It was just like when he had lost Sherlock. He seemed to have been lost in thought because when he looked at Mike, Mike was looking back at him expectantly. 

"Sorry, what?" John asked. 

"Are you going to answer that?" Mike asked, pointing to John's phone. 

John shook his head. "I don't want them to check up on me, see if I'm okay. I'm fine. I really am." 

Mike looked at John sadly. "What if that's not why they're calling?" 

"Why else would they be-?" John started to ask but then stopped. "Oh." 

"Maybe we should head back?" Mike suggested. 

John nodded although going back was the last thing he wanted to do. 

They walked slowly back to the hospital, Mike rambling on about whatever was on his mind and John nodding at all the appropriate times without really listening. When they reached the hospital, Mike left and John slowly made his way back up to Sherlock's room. He had barely made it to the elevator though when he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he saw Mrs. Hudson running over to him. 

"Mrs. Hudson," he sighed as she reached him. "I am not coming home tonight." 

She shook her head. "No it's not that," she panted, out of breath.

John frowned. All sorts of possibilities ran through his mind and he paled. "Then what is it?"  

"It's Sherlock." 

 


	5. Chapter 5

When John reached Sherlock's room, with Mrs. Hudson close behind, he saw that the door was shut. Mycroft and Greg were sitting in the chairs across the corridor, murmuring to each other. Neither of them looked at John and he wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing. He noticed that Molly wasn't in the corridor. "Where's Molly?" he asked slowly, turning to Mrs. Hudson. 

"She had to work but I'm sure she'll be here any minute now," Mrs. Hudson assured him. 

John nodded and started pacing around the corridor. He didn't know what was going on behind that closed door but the fact that it was closed couldn't be a good thing, could it? The fact that Mycroft, Sherlock's next of kin, was stuck out in the corridor too definitely couldn't be good. He walked over to the door and pressed his ear to it, listening closely to try and hear what was going on. He could hear the doctors, or nurses, he wasn't sure which, asking some questions but he couldn't hear what they were saying or tell if they were directed to Sherlock or each other. Following the questions were lots of thumps, not overly loud but loud enough for the sound to travel through the door. John froze and could feel himself paling. They were giving Sherlock CPR. What else could that thumping be? He held on to the door for support, knowing that if he let go he'd crumple to the ground. Just as he thought that he was going to fall to the ground anyway, he heard something else. 

"I said I'm fine. Get off me," came a deep baritone, barely making it through the door. The voice was weak and hoarse but it was definitely Sherlock's. Following his voice was more thumping.

John straightened up, relieved, and opened the door. He didn't care whether he was allowed in or not. As he went in, everyone turned to look at him and the room went silent. Sherlock was propped up on two pillows with a nurse on one side of him and a doctor on the other. He looked pale and exhausted but what shocked John the most was how distressed he looked. John had seen Sherlock afraid before, there was the incident with the hound, but he had never seen Sherlock like this. His eyes were wide and he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. 

When he saw John, his eyes widened even more. John couldn't see him like this. John was never supposed to see him like this. "Get out," he said quietly, his voice strained and urgent. 

John frowned. "But Sherlock-"

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry but if he wants you to leave, you have to," she said quietly. 

John took one last look at Sherlock and sighed, walking out and shutting the door behind him. 

"I doubt he'll let you in for the entire time he's still in hospital," Mycroft said quietly, looking up at John. 

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why do you think that?" he asked. 

"You saw how bad he is right now. Mentally and physically. He cares about you too much to let you see him like that." 

John sighed and sat down on the floor beside the door, resting the back of his head against the wall. "So how come you're stuck out here too? You've seen him like that before, haven't you?" 

Mycroft smirked slightly. "This is one of the very rare times where if he tells me to leave, I have to. What makes you think that he wouldn't use the opportunity?" 

John nodded. "Point taken. But Greg, he likes you, doesn't he?" 

Greg actually laughed, much to John's confusion. "I'm sure he does but not when I introduce myself as Greg to the nurse. Apparently, I'm an impostor who didn't bother to make sure I knew 'Geoffrey's' name." 

John chuckled. "Sounds about right. And Mrs. Hudson?" 

"Same reason as you," Mycroft said quietly. "He cares for her almost like his own mother." 

Mrs. Hudson blushed a little. She knew that Sherlock and her acted like mother and son but she hadn't realized that Sherlock actually saw her almost like a mother. She was glad though. She saw both Sherlock and John as the sons she had never had. 

"If you want some advice, go in when he's asleep," Greg said. "He'll be a bit groggy the next few times he wakes up and he won't bother sending you out." 

 John nodded just as the nurse and the doctor stepped back out. The doctor walked down the corridor while the nurse stopped to talk to them. 

"He's asleep again," she said softly. "He should be ready to be discharged within the next three days." 

John nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly. 

The nurse swallowed nervously before continuing. "May I suggest some rehabilitation centres?" she asked. 

John shook his head. "No, w-" 

"We already have him enrolled into one," Mycroft interrupted. 

The nurse nodded and walked away. 

John whirled on Mycroft. "You what?!" he asked angrily. 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Well of course we have him enrolled into a rehab centre. We can't allow his drug habit to continue." 

"He doesn't have a drug habit!" John shouted. "This was a one time thing." 

"A one time thing that has almost killed him three times now," Mycroft murmured. 

John shook his head. "He's not going to rehab. That's final," he said firmly before stepping in to Sherlock's room and shutting the door behind him. 

  **************

Mary Moriarty walked into the kitchen where her husband was yelling at someone on the phone. 

"I don't care what he said to you, if you don't follow through with this I'll do a lot more that he could even think about doing." 

She sighed and put a newspaper clipping down in front of him. The headline read  _ **CONSULTING DETECTIVE, CONSULTING DRUG ADDICT?**_ The article spoke all about Sherlock's drug overdose with countless fans chipping in to give their thoughts about why Sherlock did it. None of them were right, of course, but only John and Sherlock knew the truth. Well only John now. Sherlock's memory of that day was a complete mess. He didn't remember anything that had happened and John didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

Jim saw the headline and hung up immediately, not caring that he was in the middle of a sentence. He quickly skimmed through the article and then looked up at Mary. "This is brilliant. You know what we could do with this?" 

Mary smiled back. "I have a few ideas." 


	6. Chapter 6

When Sherlock woke up he saw John asleep, his head resting on his folded arms which were lying beside Sherlock. "John?" he asked quietly, his voice hoarse and far too quiet. 

John looked exhausted but he looked up as soon as Sherlock spoke. "Oh, you're awake, hi," he said softly. "How do you feel?" 

Sherlock shrugged and winced. "Kind of like I almost died," he murmured. 

John frowned. "Well you did. Don't do it again." 

"Yes, sir," Sherlock muttered sarcastically. 

"Sherlock, I'm serious," John said sternly. "I don't want to lose you. I can't. Not again," his voice quavered slightly. 

Sherlock sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." 

John nodded. "Right. Good." 

They were silent for a while but neither of them found it awkward. Finally Sherlock spoke. "Are they still out there?" 

"Only Mycroft," John said softly. "Mrs. Hudson went home and Molly and Lestrade are working." 

"Lestrade is an impostor," Sherlock said quietly, his voice very serious. "He called himself Greg." 

John rolled his eyes. "That's his name, Sherlock." 

"No, it's not." 

John sighed. "It actually is Greg. Why can you remember everyone's name except his?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "Well I never call him Greg, do I?" he asked. "So why bother remembering his name?" 

John nodded. "Okay, point taken." He hesitated for a moment before asking "do you want to see Mycroft?"

To John's surprise, Sherlock didn't laugh or make fun of the idea. He just shook his head. "You should tell him to go home. He'll no doubt drop in to Baker Street when I get out of here anyway."

"He knows you're not going to let him in," John said quietly. "But he's already said that he's not leaving until you do."

Sherlock smiled. "You just gave me an idea," he said as he sat up and started pulling off all the wires that were connected to him.

John frowned. "Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Getting out of here," Sherlock shrugged. "I might need you to help me. Maybe distract Mycroft?" 

"I can't let you sneak out!" John protested. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I will sneak out whether you let me or not," he murmured. "So you can either help me sneak through the door or I'll try and sneak myself out the window." 

John sighed. He didn't really have an option now. He couldn't let Sherlock sneak out the window. "I'll ask him to go get us tea," he murmured, walking over to the door and opening it. He stuck his head out and smiled at Mycroft. “Do you want to get us some tea?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s trying to sneak out isn’t he?”

John sighed and stepped out, shutting the door behind him so that Sherlock couldn’t listen in on their conversation. “Yeah. He said he’ll sneak out the window if I don’t help him sneak out the door.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “He says that every time but he never does.”

“So he’s not going to climb out the window?” John asked.

Mycroft shook his head. “No. There is no ledge underneath and believe it or not, my brother actually doesn’t like falling from buildings.”

John chuckled quietly. “So now what do I do?”

“Go tell him that I’m not an idiot and that if he doesn’t reconnect himself to the monitors and whatever else they have him on at the moment, I’ll call the nurse and she’ll sedate him.”

John nodded and walked back into the room. He saw Sherlock sitting on the side of the bed looking very tired.

“So is he gone?” Sherlock asked expectantly.

John shook his head. “Your brother is not an idiot and if you don’t reconnect yourself to the monitors and whatever else they have you on at the moment, he’ll call the nurse and she’ll sedate you,” John said, his voice a low monotone.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Did you just quote him word for word?”

John grinned, proud of himself for remembering all that. “Yep.”

Sherlock sighed and lay back, slowly reattaching everything to himself. “How long are they going to keep me here?” he murmured.

“Probably just a day or two more,” John said positively.

Sherlock nodded. “I guess I won’t see you for a while after that, will I?” he asked reluctantly.

John frowned. “Why not?”

“Rehab,” Sherlock sighed. “I suppose Mycroft has already planned where I’ll be going and everything.”

“You’re not going,” John said firmly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asked, surprised. “Mycroft has never not made me go to rehab after I overdose. He made me go one time just because he found some in my room even though I hadn’t used them.”

“I’ve made it quite clear to your brother than you’re not going and I don’t care what he has to say about it. If he has a problem he can take it up with me.”

Sherlock smiled softly. “You know that you’re going up against one of the most powerful men in the northern hemisphere about his brother, don’t you?”

John shook his head. “No, he’s going up against one of the most stubborn people in the world about his best friend. They didn’t make me a captain in the army for nothing, you know.”

Sherlock smirked. “It shall be quite interesting to watch the two of you fight it out.”

**********

Sherlock woke up, aching. His head was sore and he felt drowsy. He knew that he should expect to feel like that the next few times that he wakes up but it didn’t make him feel any better. As his head cleared a little he could hear yelling going on outside.

“He’s a grown man. He can do what he wants!” A voice shouted.

“He’s my little brother which makes me responsible for him,” the other voice answered. It was almost calm but had a dangerous edge to it.

“ _I_ live with him, not you,” the voice, which Sherlock now recognized as John’s, retorted.

“I lived with him for longer,” Mycroft replied.

“He doesn’t need to go to rehab. They have a doctor patient ratio of one in 23. If he stays with me, I can keep an eye on just him and not have to worry about 22 other patients.”

“You’re not sufficiently trained in drug rehabilitation.”

“And they’re not trained in understanding Sherlock.”

“Why are you against sending him to rehab?” Mycroft asked.

“You’ve obviously never heard him murmuring in his sleep,” John answered angrily. “If you heard him, you would be against it too.” He turned and went back into Sherlock’s room, slamming the door angrily behind him. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said quietly when he saw Sherlock looking at him. “Sorry if we were loud.”

Sherlock ignored John’s comment. “I murmur in my sleep?” he asked quietly. 


	7. Chapter 7

John's back was aching. He had been sitting in the plastic hospital chair for far too long. He ran his hand through his hair as he listened to Sherlock murmuring in his sleep. The detective had been genuinely surprised when he heard John say that he murmured in his sleep but John guessed that it wasn't something that happened every night. Only when Sherlock was stressed or upset or something.

"Not again," Sherlock murmured, rolling over. "Don't send me away again."

John sighed. He wouldn't let Mycroft send Sherlock away. Not again.

Mycroft was sitting in the seat beside John, a dark frown on his face. "I... didn't realize..." he said softly.

"You can't send him away," John said firmly. "He can't keep living in fear of being sent away."

"Well we can't let his drug habit consume him," Mycroft argued.

"It's not a habit. That's the first time I've seen him do anything recreational."

"It could become one," Mycroft sighed.

"It won't. I won't let it," John said firmly.

 Mycroft considered for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. But if it happens again-"

"It won't," John interrupted. 

"Fine," Mycroft sighed as he stood up. "I suppose I should leave before he wakes up and orders me out."

"Just go home," John said softly. "You're not going to see him anyway."

Mycroft shook his head. "I can't leave. I've left before... not again." 

John was surprised about how much emotion Mycroft was showing. He didn't know what had happened and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. Before he could say anything, Mycroft had already left the room and shut the door quietly behind him. 

*********

_10 years earlier_

Mycroft ran into the hospital, his hair a horrible mess, his three-piece suit an unironed wreck. He had received a phone call from the hospital saying that his brother had taken a turn for the worst. He couldn't understand how Sherlock could go downhill so quickly. When he had left the hospital yesterday, Sherlock had been stable and on his way to recovery. Mycroft had wanted to stay but he could never be away from the office for any length of time. 

As he reached his brothers room, he noticed that what little colour Sherlock had yesterday was now gone. The heart monitor was beeping incredibly slow and he could barely see the rise and fall of his brother's chest. Hesitantly, Mycroft walked over to Sherlock's bed and sat down, taking his brothers cold hand in his. He murmured soft things to Sherlock, things that he would never say to him if he was awake, until he finally drifted off to sleep. 

Mycroft was woken up the next morning to an irritatingly long beep. "Ugh, shut it off," he murmured sleepily before quickly realizing what it was. He sat up in his seat properly to see Sherlock's heart monitor flat lining. For just a moment he looked at his brother before quickly hitting the help button. He felt numb as he stood there, looking at Sherlock and then as he got pushed away by nurses and doctors as they hurried over to Sherlock, trying to revive him. 

There in that room, Sherlock Holmes died for 27 seconds. 

There in that room, Mycroft Holmes slumped against the wall, wondering what he would do if he lost his little brother. 

There in that room, Mycroft Holmes sobbed uncontrollably, for the first (and hopefully last) time, even after the nurses assured him that his brother was breathing again.

There in that room, Mycroft Holmes checked his brothers pulse and breathing rate a total of 19 times before he was finally convinced that Sherlock was okay. 

 

When Sherlock had heard all this, he had laughed. "Caring is not an advantage, brother," he chuckled, his voice hoarse and weak. 

Mycroft had not found it amusing but was so glad that his brother was okay that he couldn't bring himself to be mad. 

What Sherlock did not find amusing, was that he now had a broken finger from Mycroft gripping his hand so tight. It seemed his brother really didn't know his own strength. 

Mycroft got Sherlock back only three months later when he was shot while working with MI6. Fortunately, Sherlock didn't break his finger. 

 

**********

When Sherlock was finally allowed to leave hospital, John helped him get dressed into the clothes that Mrs. Hudson had brought him and got him into a wheelchair. Sherlock protested for almost half an hour before he finally gave in and let John wheel him out. 

John was surprised to see that Mycroft wasn't at the hospital anymore but sure enough, one of his cars was waiting out the front to take them home. When John opened the door, once again he was surprised to see Mycroft not there. Sherlock didn't seem to find the sudden disappearance of Mycroft strange though and John realized why when they reached Baker Street and Mycroft was there waiting for them. 

"Sherlock," he greeted with a stiff nod of the head. John blinked, surprised, at how much emotion was being held in that one word. 

Sherlock half smiled at Mycroft. For once, he was incredibly happy with his brother. The last thing he wanted was to be sent to rehab and now Mycroft wasn't making him go. 

Mycroft knew exactly why Sherlock was happy with him and sighed. "Don't do it again, he warned. 

Sherlock nodded as Mrs. Hudson brought in the tea. 

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm so glad you're okay," she smiled as she handed him and Mycroft their cups of tea. 

Sherlock smiled politely at her. "I'm always okay, Mrs. Hudson," he said softly. 

She nodded but still hugged him tightly. 

John sat Sherlock down on the sofa and sat beside him. He looked at Sherlock hesitantly for a moment before sighing. "Sherlock," he said softly, his voice showing how much he didn't want to have to say this. "If I find you doing drugs again.... I'm moving out." 

Sherlock bit his lip. He wasn't planning to do drugs again but he still didn't know if he would be able to never do them again. "Okay," he said quietly, frowning at the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm so so sorry about how long it has taken me to upload this chapter. I was at camp for the first weekend I missed and then my laptop has been playing up since. I meant to make this cheaper long to make up for it but that didn't really work either. Hopefully the next chapter will make up for it :) I should be back to regular updates now.


	8. Chapter 8

When John came home from work, Sherlock was lying on the sofa. "Still haven't moved then?" he asked as he sat down in his armchair and picked up the paper. It has been two weeks since Sherlock came home from hospital and he hadn't done anything but lie on the sofa. 

"There is nothing to do," Sherlock moaned. 

"Lestrade has given you at least five cases!" John argued. 

"And not one of them was more than a five. Hardly worth my time," Sherlock muttered. 

"I bumped into Molly today," John said, which was only half true. He had gone looking for her on purpose. "She has a John Doe if you want to experiment on him?" 

Sherlock looked up at John, trying to look bored but unable to help the smile which crept across his face. "Really?" 

John grinned. "Yeah. Why don't you go tomorrow and check it out. I'm sure you can do a lot of experiments with it." 

"Brilliant," Sherlock smiled. 

**********

When John woke up the next morning, he was hardly surprised to see Sherlock had already left. He had almost expected Sherlock to break into the morgue last night to see the cadaver. John got ready and went to work. When he walked in, he noticed that he'd gotten there too late. He had been making an effort to get to work before Mary so that he wouldn't have to see her on his way through but this morning she was already sitting at the desk. 

"Here's your list of patients for this morning," she said quietly, handing John the piece of paper. 

He nodded and made to leave but she grabbed his arm. 

"John, wait." 

John turned, narrowing his eyes at her. "What? What could you possibly have to say to me?" 

She bit her lip and John was about to turn and walk away when she spoke. "He's always going to be an addict, John." 

He stepped closer so that he was directly in front of Mary. "What did you say?" he asked furiously. 

"Just, don't expect him to change for you," she mumbled. 

Before John could reply, the phone rang and Mary picked it up, giving him a quick, innocent smile. 

John stormed off and sat anxiously at his desk, drumming his fingers on it nervously. He knew that he shouldn't pay any mind to what Mary was saying but he couldn't help it. What if she was right? Sherlock had been a drug addict for a long time, long before they had met, so why should he change for John when he hadn't changed for anyone else? 

All day, John worried about what Sherlock was doing. He didn't doubt for a second that if Sherlock had hidden drugs in the apartment he'd know exactly where to hide them so that John could never find them. He remembered his threat to move out and sighed. Where would he even go? 

When John got home, he was glad to see Sherlock lying on the sofa in the same way he always was. "Have fun at the morgue?" he asked, walking into the kitchen to make tea. 

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked lazily. "Oh. I didn't go." 

"Then where did you go?" John asked as he opened the cupboard to get out the mugs. As he pulled Sherlock's mug out, a small clear bag full of white powder fell out of it. John froze, staring at it. No, it couldn't be. He looked quickly over to Sherlock who was still lying lazily on the sofa, paying no attention to him. "Sherlock?" he asked uncertainly. 

"Mmm?" Sherlock asked, glancing over at John. When he saw the bag in Johns hand, he paled. "John, those aren't mine."

"Well they certainly aren't mine," John said quietly. "The only drug addict in this flat is you." 

Sherlock winced. "John, I swear I've never seen those before." 

John shook his head. "No. No, you don't get to do this. I am so sick of everyone lying to me. First you make me believe that you're dead, then Mary cheats on me and now you're lying to me about these stupid drugs!" He didn't notice that he was crying until Sherlock was there with his arms wrapped around him. "Get off me!" John shouted, pushing him away. 

Sherlock stepped back. "John, please, they're not mine." The look in Sherlock's eyes was so true that John almost believed him but he shook his head. 

"No. I'm not falling for your lies any more, Sherlock. Get out." 

Sherlock didn't say anything. He just nodded once, stiffly before turning on his heel and walking to his bedroom. 

**********

John was sitting in his armchair when Sherlock came out of his room, a small suitcase by his side. 

"John-" he started. 

John shook his head. "Just go," he whispered, refusing to even look at Sherlock. 

Sherlock nodded and walked out. 

**********

Mycroft sat by the fire, drinking a glass of whiskey. He fall of rain outside made his large house feel even more empty. He sighed and took a sip of his drink when he heard a knock. As he walked to answer the door, he wondered who it could possibly be. His house was not easy to access so whoever it was would have to be either very important or one of his workers. He couldn't imagine why any of them would be coming at this time of night though. 

What Mycroft didn't expect to see as he opened the door was his younger brother, soaking wet, curls stuck to the sides of his downcast face. Before he had a chance to say anything, Sherlock held up his suitcase. 

"Mycroft, I need a place to stay." 


	9. Chapter 9

John slept uneasily that night. In the space of three weeks, he had lost both his girlfriend and his best friend. The thing that troubled him the most, however, was that he had no idea where Sherlock was. He kept imagining Sherlock sitting alone on the streets in the cold rain, or lying on the cold floor in some drug den, high as a kite, or possibly overdosed if their last fight was anything to go on. He considered messaging Sherlock but he didn't know what to say. He wasn't about to ask Sherlock to come back and he was still too angry to ask him if he was okay. Finally he decided on messaging Mycroft. 

_**Have you seen Sherlock? JW** _

The reply came instantly as if Mycroft had just been waiting for him. 

_**Yes. He is residing with me. MH** _

John sighed in relief and put his phone down. Mycroft wouldn't let Sherlock do anything bad to himself. Still, he had trouble sleeping. What if he didn't see Sherlock again? He had just kicked Sherlock out so he didn't suppose that Sherlock would want to come back. He was almost asleep when he received another message. 

**_I'll be by to pick up my things in the morning. SH_ **

**_Do what you like with the drugs. They're not mine. SH_ **

John sighed. The drugs had to be Sherlock's. Who else would have them? He knew that Mrs. Hudson's husband used to run a drug cartel but he didn't think she did any drugs. And even if she did, she wouldn't have left them in their flat.  _Oh well,_ he thought,  _at least I'll get to see him tomorrow._

**************

The next morning, John was woken by the sound of someone moving around downstairs. When he walked into the living room, he saw Sherlock packing his skull into a box. As John looked around, he realised that pretty much everything in the flat was actually Sherlock's. The place would be practically empty if Sherlock took everything with him. 

Sherlock must have been thinking the same thing because he spoke without even turning to look at John. "I'll only be taking my clothes and some of my most treasured personal items. You can do as you like with the rest." 

"Sherlock..." John started but Sherlock cut him off, shaking his head. 

"Don't John. They're not mine and you won't believe me." 

"Well who's are they then?" John demanded. 

Sherlock didn't reply. He just turned his back and kept packing his things. 

John sighed and sat down in his armchair, watching as Sherlock started packing away his lab equipment. "You can see why I think they're yours, can't you?" 

"They could just as easily be yours. I don't do drugs, John," Sherlock replied, his voice sounding almost hurt. 

"Yes you do." 

"No, I used to do drugs." 

"It's been two weeks, Sherlock." 

"I wasn't trying to get high though, was I?" Sherlock said, his voice full of malice. "Remind me next time to just put a bullet through my brain." With that, he picked up his box and walked out, slamming the door behind him. 

**************

When Sherlock got back to Mycroft's, he didn't say a word to him, just walked straight to his room. Mycroft lived in a large manor and had given Sherlock his own wing. it was obvious that Sherlock needed the space and didn't really want to be staying with his brother, but Mycroft was glad that Sherlock had chosen him over the street. 

It was hours before Mycroft dared enter Sherlock's wing. He would have waited longer if Sherlock hadn't been eerily quiet. When Mycroft walked into Sherlocks bedroom, he saw Sherlock sitting on his bed, staring blankly at the wall.

The taller man cleared his throat. "Sherlock?" he ventured, cautiously. 

There was no reply. 

"Sherlock?" he asked again, a little louder. 

Sherlock turned to look at his brother and for just a moment he looked like the lost child that Mycroft remembered far too well. It was gone in an instant though as Sherlock restored his mask of ice. "What?" he asked, his tone almost accusing. 

Mycroft stepped further into the room and hovered for a moment before he awkwardly sat on the corner of the bed. "They weren't yours, were they? The drugs?" 

"Of course not," Sherlock shook his head. "John told me this would happen if I did drugs again. I wouldn't have done them if you payed me." 

"Why didn't you prove it to him?" 

"How?" Sherlock asked. "The only fingerprints on them were his." 

Mycroft smiled a little, causing Sherlock to look at him sharply. 

"What?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. 

"Think, brother," Mycroft said quietly. "When you're on a case and there is no evidence at the crime scene, what do you look at?" 

"Security footage," Sherlock answered quickly. "But..." he stopped and looked up at his brother. "You bugged the flat." It wasn't a question. 

"All you have to do is look through the footage and see how the drugs got there." 

Sherlock nodded then sighed. "But how will I show John?" 

The British government smiled and stood up. "Just leave that with me, brother dear," he said as he walked out. "I'll email the footage to you." 

 

**************

 

John was sitting in the kitchen which was far too quiet, drinking some tea. He thought back to what Sherlock had said before he stormed out that morning.  _Remind me next time to put a bullet through my brain._  The thought made John cringe. He had seen Sherlock dead once, and never wanted to have to see that again. Another thought hit him and he had to quickly shoo the thought away before it planted itself inside his mind.  _What if Sherlock saw me dead?_ The very thought scared John. What scared him more though was that it didn't sound like such a bad idea.  _  
_

"No," he said out loud, quite firmly, as he shook his head. Going back to bed had started sounding like a very good idea. He couldn't entertain these thoughts. 

Dropping his tea into the sink, John trudged up the stairs and fell onto the bed, burying his head in the pillow, painfully aware of the gun which was lying less than a metre away. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

"Eat, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. 

"Busy," Sherlock muttered, not bothering to look up from his laptop. He had skimmed through a day of footage so far and hadn't found anything useful. 

"You have to eat," Mycroft insisted. 

"I have to find this first," Sherlock frowned at the screen. "But there's nothing here." 

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, eat your food," Mycroft said slowly, his tone warning. 

At the sound of his full name, Sherlock's head snapped up. "Don't," he said darkly. 

The older man held his gaze, narrowing his eyes. "You haven't eaten since you got here." 

"I haven't been here all that long," Sherlock shrugged, turning back to the screen. 

"Three days now." 

"I'll eat when I've found what I'm looking for," Sherlock murmured. 

Mycroft was just about to walk out of the room when Sherlock leapt out of his seat with a satisfied smile. "Found it," he said, holding up his laptop to show the screen which was paused on a picture of Mary in the kitchen of 221B. 

"John's previous lover?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Sherlock to be sure. 

Sherlock nodded. "She's married to Moriarty." 

Mycroft was about to point out to how obvious it was but he shut his mouth. "So when do you plan on telling him?" 

Sherlock frowned at the screen, then sat back down. "I can't," he murmured. 

Mycroft didn't understand. "What do you mean you can't?" 

"I can't, Mycroft," Sherlock murmured, looking over with a sad look in his eye. "This isn't going to make anything any better for John. He will feel worse about the whole Mary thing and bad about not believing me. It's best left alone." 

The older man was silent for a moment, wandering how his brother could be so sentimental after so long of being emotionless, before he walked over to behind Sherlock and putting a hand gently on his shoulder. "You have to do something, brother."

Sherlock flinched slightly at the touch before turning to look at his brother. "Why do I feel that there is something you're not telling me?" 

There was a pause before Mycroft leant forwards and reached over to the laptop, fastforwarding to the footage from that morning. 

Sherlock watched as John sat down on the edge of his bed. "You have cameras in his room?" Sherlock asked. 

"Just watch," Mycroft said quietly. 

Sherlock should have detected that something was wrong from the way that Mycroft spoke but somehow he missed it, and watched the video withe only curiosity. 

In the video, John sat on the bed for a long time. So long that Mycroft placed the video on fastforward. Sherlock watched the time and realised that it was almost two hours that John sat on the edge of the bed for before he finally moved. 

Sherlock froze as he saw John reach into the draw by the side of the bed. He knew which draw that was. It held two things in it. Johns army medals and his army issued Browning. 

Mycroft felt his younger brother freeze and tense up and gently squeezed his shoulder. If Sherlock felt it, he didn't react. 

Back in the video, John was now holding the gun in his hand, turning it round and watching the light glint off of it. 

Sherlock watched intently, memorising every single move that John made. John was bringing the gun up, closer and closer to his head, and Sherlock was subconsciously moving closer and closer to the edge of his seat, when the screen went black. 

Sherlock whipped around so quickly that Mycroft barely had time to step back. "What happened?" he demanded, his face stone cold but his showing a sadness and fear that Mycroft hadn't seen since Sherlock was a young child. 

"He played around with the gun a little more before putting it back in the drawer and having some tea," Mycroft said softly. 

"I have to go see him," Sherlock said quickly, standing up and shutting the laptop. 

"Will you tell him who it was?" 

Sherlock hesitated. "I don't know," he murmured as he walked out. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for the incredibly long gap between these chapters. I had terrible writers block, a trip to South Korea, and just general life. I'm hoping that my chapters will be more regular now and I love you all so much for sticking with this story.

John jumped out of a stupor that he hadn't realised he was in when he heard loud footsteps running up the stairs. He was more than surprised to see Sherlock come barging inside and run straight up the stairs into Johns bedroom. John followed behind Sherlock at a slower pace. 

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" he asked quietly once he got into the room, just in time to see Sherlock stuffing something into the inside of his coat.

Sherlock turned to face John and frowned. The deductions that he would rather ignore, forcing their way into his mind.  _Sleeping schedule disrupted, barely eating, depressed._ The detective shook his head to clear it. "John," he said softly.

"Why are you in my room?" John asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

Sherlock shrugged. He wouldn't tell John what he was doing in there. "I wanted to talk to you," he answered instead. 

"About what?" John asked tiredly. He was exhausted of talking about the drugs but until they resolved that, there was nothing else to talk about. 

Sherlock held his laptop out to John. "There's footage on here," he said slowly and quietly. "I wouldn't advise you to watch it. I doubt you'll like what you see. But if you do, maybe then you'll believe that the drugs weren't mine." 

John sighed, the sigh of a man who had long given up. "Then whose were they?" he asked, taking the laptop. 

Sherlock didn't say anything, just nodded to the laptop. 

John rolled his eyes and opened the laptop, turning it on. He saw that the footage was paused on him sitting in the bedroom, holding his gun, and gulped. "What does this have to do with anything?" he asked, turning angrily to Sherlock. 

"No, not that," Sherlock murmured, quickly reaching over to the laptop and rewinding it to just before the drugs were placed. "Now John, before you watch it, just remember that I'm very sorry," he said quietly. "You won't like what you see." 

John rolled his eyes, annoyed, as he pressed play on the laptop.

Sherlock kept his eyes on John rather than the screen. He had already seen the footage and had no reason to watch it again. He watched as John gasped quietly and froze. He saw Johns brow furrow and his fists clench. He realised far too late that John was not upset, he was angry. 

John placed the laptop down on the bed carefully and stood up, staring at Sherlock. For a moment they just stood there looking at each other, John trying to decide how best to channel his anger, and Sherlock wondering what John was thinking. Sherlock was still trying to understand how John was feeling when a fist met his jaw, sending him backwards. 

"John, please. Calm down," Sherlock said softly as he stood back up. "I didn't show you this to make you angry. I showed you so that you would believe it wasn't me." 

"You think this makes it better?" John asked, his voice dangerously low and quiet. "How does this make it better?" 

Sherlock held his hands up. "I haven't done anything wrong, John. Why are you angry with me?" 

"Get out," John ordered, shoving Sherlock's laptop into his hands. "Get out and don't come back."

Sherlock took the laptop and walked out, pushing past John as he went. He had no doubt that Mycroft had watched everything that happened, but couldn't bring himself to care.

 

When Sherlock got back to Mycroft's, his brother was waiting for him. "Sherlock," he said softly, but Sherlock just brushed past him. Mycroft followed him until they both ended up in the library, Sherlock curled up into a chair and Mycroft standing beside it. "He'll calm down," Mycroft said, resting a hand on the detectives shoulder. 

Sherlock shook his head. "He won't. He's just looking for reasons not to," he murmured. 

"He's hurting. He'll come round." 

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft. "And if he doesn't?" 

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you wish." 

Sherlock hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around Mycroft and clinging to him. 

That night, they shared a bed. Sherlock curled up against Mycroft, seeking comfort, and fell asleep instantly. Mycroft kept an arm around his brother all night although he did not sleep, too busy trying to find ways to bring Sherlock and John back together. 


End file.
